David McElroy

Have you ever wondered what cats do when you’re not home? What might they be hiding from you? Welcome to the secret neighborhood “Cat Rave on Thomas Avenue.”

Just don’t let the humans know about it.

This is the latest of my ridiculous parody videos that I started making a few months ago. My first few videos were very simple, but the last few have gotten increasingly complex. This one is the most complicated and was the most time-consuming.

I’ve been enjoying these as a creative outlet, but they’re not worth a nickel. Very few people have found the YouTube channel where I’ve started posting them, so I’d appreciate it if you would “like” some of them and subscribe to the account if you use YouTube.

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Facebook recently told me that I needed to convert my personal account into a “content creator” account. Why? I have no idea.

As a minor show of rebellion, I changed my work title on there to “discontent creator.” Because I refuse to define my work as “content.”

I hate that word.

To the current culture, a novel is content. A film or documentary is content. A poem is content. A painting is content. A thoughtful essay is content. A comedy sketch is content. A cat falling off a table is content as long as a camera is running.

The word treats all of those things as interchangeable cogs in a system whose purpose is to capture attention long enough for someone to show ads. I don’t object to someone making money, but I do object to a soulless system which offers no real value for the attention it steals.

I don’t want to create content.

I want to write.

I want to make films.

I want to create images.

I want to communicate ideas and feelings.

I want to create connections with others.

Those distinctions matter.

Some people vaguely object to social media “content” because it’s poor quality slop, but that’s far too simplistic.

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I was in a lousy mood by the time I arrived at a fast food place for dinner late Sunday. I hadn’t finished with clients until around 9:30 p.m. and I was annoyed by several things that had happened earlier.

Nothing much had gone right for me Sunday. I considered it a bad day.

I had been seated alone for a few minutes when I heard an excited high-pitched voice call my name.

“David!” called out 11-year-old Sophie, who ran over to my table to hug me. “I didn’t know you would be here!”

She was genuinely excited. It turned out that her mother had some business to take care of and she brought Sophie — and younger brother, Noah — for the trip.

Sophie ran back to the table where she had left her purse and a book. She told her 6-year-old brother, who came running.

“Mr. David!” called out Noah.

He jumped into the seat where I was sitting and wrapped his arms around me. He was very happy and didn’t want to let go.

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